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How Lisa loved the King. 



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BY 



GEORGE ELIOT, 

AUTHOR OF "THE SPANISH GYPSY," ETC. 



BOSTON : 
FIELDS, OSGOOD, AND COMPANY, 

(Successors to Ticknor & Fields,) 
1869. 



^-^-W Si 



.HS 

Copy Z- 



Library of Congress 
By traDsfor from 
State DGpartment. 
MAY 3 1 1927 



How Lisa loved the King. 



How Lisa loved the King. 



Six hundred years ago, in Dante's time, 
Before his cheek was furrowed by deep rhyme ; 
When Europe, fed afresh from Eastern story, 
Was hke a garden tangled with the glory 
Of flowers hand-planted and of flowers air- 
sown. 
Climbing and trailing, budding and full-blown. 
Where purple bells are tossed amid pink stars, 
And springing blades, green troops in innocent 

wars. 
Crowd every shady spot of teeming earth, 
Making invisible motion visible birth, — 



8 How Lisa loved tJie King. 



Six hundred years ago, Palermo town 
Kept holiday. A deed of great renown, 
A high revenge, had freed it from the yoke 
Of hated Frenchmen ; and from Calpe's rock 
To where the Bosporus caught the earlier sun, 
'Twas told that Pedro, King of Aragon, 
Was welcotned master of all Sicily, — 
A royal knight, supreme as kings should be 
In strength and gentleness that make high chiv- 
alry. 

Spain was the favorite home of knightly grace. 
Where generous men rode steeds of generous 

race; 
Both Spanish, yet half Arab ; both inspired 
By mutual spirit, that each motion fired 
With beauteous response, like minstrelsy 
Afresh fulfilling fresh expectancy. 



How Lisa loved the King, 9 

So, when Palermo made high festival, 
The joy of matrons and of maidens all 
Was the mock terror of the tournament, 
Where safety, with the glimpse of danger blent. 
Took exaltation as from epic song, 
Which greatly tells the pains that to great life 
belong. 

And in all eyes King Pedro was the king • 

Of cavaliers ; as in a full-gemmed ring 

The largest ruby, or as that bright star 

Whose shining shows us where the Hyads are. 

His the best genet, and he sat it best ; 

His weapon, whether tilting or in rest, 

Was worthiest watching ; and his face, once 

seen, 
Gave to the promise of his royal mien 
Such rich fulfilment as the opened eyes 



10 How Lisa loved the Kingr. 



<:> 



Of a loved sleeper, or the long-watched rise 
Of vernal day, whose joy o'er stream and mea- 
dow flies. 

But of the maiden forms that thick enwreathed 
The broad piazza, and sweet witchery breathed, 
With innocent faces budding all arow. 
From balconies and windows high and low, 
Who was it felt the deep mysterious glow. 
The impregnation with supernal fire 
Of young ideal love, transformed desire, 
Whose passion is but worship of that Best 
Taught by the many-mingled creed of each 
young breast ? 

'Twas gentle Lisa, of no noble line, 
Child of Bernardo, a rich Florentine, 
Who from his merchant-city hither came 
To trade in drugs ; yet kept an honest fame, 



How Lisa loved the King. 1 1 



And had the virtue not to try and sell 

Drugs that had none. He loved his riches well, 

But loved them chiefly for his Lisa's sake, 

Whom with a father's care he sought to make 

The bride of some true honorable man, — 

Of Perdicone (sp the rumor ran),- 

Whose birth was higher than his fortunes were ; 

For still your trader likes a mixture fair 

Of blood that hurries to some higher strain 

Than reckoning money's loss and money's gain. 

And .of such mixture good may surely come: 

Lord's scions so may learn to cast a sum, 

A trader's grandson bear a well-set head, 

And have less conscious manners, better bred ; 

Nor, when he tries to be polite, be rude instead. 

'Twas Perdicone's friends made overtures 
To good Bernardo ; so one dame assures . 
Her neighbor dame, who notices the youth 



12 How Lisa loved the King. 



Fixing his eyes on Lisa ; and, in truth, 
Eyes that could see her on this summer day 
Might find it hard to turn another way. 
She had a pensive beauty, yet not sad ; 
Rather like minor cadences that glad 
The hearts of little birds amid spring boughs : 
And oft the trumpet or the joust would rouse 
Pulses that gave her cheek a finer glow, 
Parting her lips that seemed a mimic bow 
By chiselling Love for play in coral wrought, 
Then quickened by him with the passionate 

thought, 
The soul that trembled in the lustrous night 
Of slow long eyes. Her body was so slight, 
It seemed she could have floated in the sky. 
And with the angelic choir made symphony ; 
But in her cheek's rich tinge, and in the dark 
Of darkest hair and eyes, she bore a mark 



How Lisa loved the King. 13 

Of kinship to her generous mother-earth, . 
The fervid land that gives the' pkimy palm-trees 
birth. 

She saw not Perdicone ; her young mind 
Dreamed not that any man had ever pined 
For stich a little simple maid as she : 
She had but dreamed how heavenly it would be 
To love some hero noble, beauteous, great, 
Who would live stories worthy to narrate, 
Like Roland, or the warriors of Troy, 
The Cid, or Amadis, or that fair boy 
Who conquered every thing beneath the sun, 
And somehow, some time, died at Babylon 
Fighting the Moors. For heroes all were good 
And fair as that archangel who withstood 
The Evil One, the author of all wrong, — 
That Evil One who made the French so strong ; 



14 How Lisa loved the King. 

And now the flower of heroes must he be 
Who drove those tyrants from dear Sicily, 
So that her maids might walk to vespers tran- 
qiiilly. 

Young Lisa saw this hero in the king ; 

And as wood-lilies that sweet odors bring • 
Might dream the light that opes their modest 

eyne 
Was lily-odored ; and as rites divine, 
Round turf-laid altars, or 'neath roofs of stone. 
Draw sanctity from out the heart alone 
That loves and worships : so the miniature 
Perplexed of her soul's world, all virgin pure. 
Filled with heroic virtues that bright form, 
Raona's royalty, the finished norm 
Of horsemanship, the half of chivalry ; 
For how could generous men avengers be, 



How Lisa loved the King. 15 

Save as God's messengers on coursers fleet ? — 
These, scouring earth, made Spain With Syria 

meet 
In one self-world where the same right had sway, 
And good must grow as grew the blessed day. 
No more : great Love his essence had endued 
With Pedro's form, and, entering, subdued 
The soul of Lisa, fervid and intense. 
Proud in its choice of proud obedience 
To hardship glorified by perfect reverence. 

Sweet Lisa homeward carried that dire guest, 
And in her chamber, through the hours of rest, 
The darkness was alight for her with sheen 
Of arms, and plumM helm ; and bright between 
Their commoner gloss, like the pure living spring 
'Twixt porphyry lips, or living bird's bright wing 
'Twixt golden wires, the glances of the king 



1 6 How Lisa loved the King. 

Flashed on her soul, and waked vibrations there 
Of known dehghts love-mixed to new and rare : 
The impalpable dream was turned to breathing 

flesh, 
Chill thought of summer to the warm close mesh 
Of sunbeams held between the citron-leaves, 
Clothing her life of life. Oh ! she believes 
That she could be content if he but knew 
(Her poor small self could claim no other due) 
How Lisa's lowly love had highest reach 
Of winged passion, whereto winged speech 
Would be scorched remnants left by mounting 

flame. 
Though, had she such lame message, were it 

blame 
To tell what greatness dwelt in her, what rank 
She held in loving .<* Modest maidens shrank 
From telling love that fed on selfish hope ; 



How Lisa loved the King. 17 

But love, as hopeless as the shattering song, 
Wailed for loved beings who have joined the 

throng 
Of mighty dead ones. . . . Nay, but she was 

weak, 
Knew only prayers and ballads, could not speak 
With eloquence, save what dumb creatures have, 
That with small cries and touches small boons 

crave. 

She watched all day that she might see him pass 
With knights and ladies ; but she said, " Alas ! 
Though he should see me, it were all as one 
He saw a pigeon sitting on the stone 
Of wall or balcony : some colored spot 
His eye just sees, his mind regardeth not. 
I have no music-touch that could bring nigh 
My lova to his soul's hearing. I shall die, 



1 8 How Lisa loved the King. 

And he will never know who Lisa was, — 
The trader's child, whose soaring spirit rose 
As hedge-born aloe-flowers that rarest years 
disclose. 

" For were I now a fair deep-breasted queen 
A-horseback, with blonde hair, and tunic green, 
Gold-bordered, like Costanza, I should need 
No change within to make me queenly there : 
For they the royal-hearted women are 
Who nobly love the noblest, yet have grace ; 
For needy suffering lives in lowliest place, 
Carrying a choicer sunlight in their smile, 
The heavenliest ray that pitieth the vile. 
My love is such, it cannot choose but soar 
Up to the highest ; yet forevermore. 
Though I were happy, throned beside the king, 
I should be tender to each little thing 



How Lisa loved the King. 19 

With hurt warm breast, that had no speech to 

tell 
Its inward pang ; and I would soothe it well 
With tender touch, and with a low soft moan 
For company : my dumb love-pang is lone. 
Prisoned as topaz-beam within a rough-garbed 

stone." 

So, inward-wailing, Lisa passed her days. 

Each night the August moon with changing 

phase 
Looked broader, harder, on her unchanged pain ; 
Each noon the heat lay heavier again 
On her despair, until her body frail 
Shrank like the snow that watchers in the vale 
See narrowed on the height each summer morn ; 
While her dark glance burnt larger, more forlorn, 
As if the soul within her, all on fire, 



20 How Lisa loved the King. 

Made of her being one swift funeral-pyre. 
Father and mother saw with sad dismay 
The meaning of their riches melt away ; 
For without Lisa what would sequins buy ? 
What wish were left if Lisa were to die ? 
Through her they cared for summers still to 

come, 
Else they would be as ghosts without a home 
In any flesh that could feel glad desire. 
They pay the best physicians, never tire 
Of seeking what will soothe her, promising 
That aught she longed for, though it were a thing 
Hard to be come at as the Indian snow, 
Or roses that on Alpine summits blow. 
It should be hers. She answers with low voice, 
She. longs for death alone — death is her choice ; 
Death is the king who never did think scorn. 
But rescues every meanest soul to sorrow born. 



How Lisa loved the King. 21 



Yet one day, as they bent above her bed, 

And watched her in brief sleep, her drooping 

head 
Turned gently, as the thirsty flowers that feel 
Some moist revival through their petals steal ; 
And little flutterings of her lids and lips 
Told of such dreamy joy as sometimes dips 
A skyey shadow in the mind's poor pool. 
She oped her eyes, and turned their dark gems 

full 
Upon her father, as in utterance dumb 
Of some kew prayer that in her sleep had come. 
" What is it, Lisa t " — " Father, I would see 
Minuccio, the great singer ; bring him me." 
For always, night and day, her unstilled thought. 
Wandering all o'er its little world, had sought 
How she could reach, by some soft pleading 

touch, 



22 How Lisa loved the King. 

King Pedro's soul, that she who loved so much, 
Dying, might have a place within his mind, — 
A little grave which he would sometimes find 
And plant some flower on it, — some thought, 
some memory kind. 

Till in her dream she saw Minuccio 
Touching his viola, and chanting low 
A strain, that, falling on her brokenly, 
Seemed blossoms lightly blown from off a tree ; 
Each burthened with a word that was a scent, — 
Raona, .Lisa, love, death, tournament; 
Then in her dream she said, " He sings of me, 
Might be my messenger ; ah ! now I see 
The king is. listening " — Then she awoke, 
And, missing her dear dream, that new-born 
longing spoke. 



How Lisa loved the King. 23 

She longed for music : that was natural ; 
Physicians said it was medicinal ; 
The humors might be schooled by true consent 
Of a fine tenor and fine instrument ; 
In short, good music, mixed with doctor's stuff, 
Apollo with Asklepios — enough ! 
Minuccio, entreated, gladly came. 
(He was a singer of most gentle fame, 
A noble, kindly spirit, not elate 
That he was famous, but that song was great ; 
Would sing as finely to this suffering child 
As at the court where princes on him smiled.) 
Gently he entered and sat down by her, 
Asking what sort of strain she would prefer, — 
The voice alone, or voice with viol wed ; 
Then, when she chose the last, he preluded - 
With magic hand, that summoned from the 
strings 



24 How Lisa loved the King. 

Aerial spirits, rare yet palpable wings 

That fanned the pulses of his listener, 

And waked each sleeping sense with blissful 

stir. 
Her cheek already showed a slow, faint blush ; 
But soon the voice, in pure, full, liquid rush, 
Made all the passion, that till now she felt, 
Seem but as cooler waters that in warmer melt. 

Finished the song, she prayed to be alone 
With kind Minuccio ; for her faith had grown 
To trust him as if missioned like a priest 
With some high grace, that, when his singing 

ceased. 
Still made him wiser, more magnanimous, 
Than common men who had no genius. 
So, laying her small hand within his palm. 
She told him how that secret, glorious harm 



How Lisa loved the King. 25 

Of loftiest loving had befallen her ; 
That death, her only hope, most bitter were, 
If, when she died, her love must perish too 
As songs unsung, and thoughts unspoken do. 
Which else might live within another breast. 
She said, " Minuccio, the grave were rest, 
If I were sure, that, lying cold and lone, 
My love, my best of life, had safely flown 
And nestled in the bosom of the king. 
See, 'tis a small weak bird, with- unfledged wing ; 
But you will carry it for me secretly, 
And bear it to the king ; then come to me 
And tell me it is safe, and I shall go 
Content, knowing that he I love my love doth 
know." 

Then she wept silently ; but each large tear 
Made pleading music to the inward ear 



26 How Lisa loved the King. 



Of good Minuccio. " Lisa, trust in me," 
He said, and kissed her fingers loyally : 
" It is sweet law to me to do your will, 
And, ere the sun his round shall thrice fulfil, 
I hope to bring you news of such rare skill 
As amulets have, that aches in trusting bosoms 
still.'^ 

He needed not to pause and first devise 
How he should tell the king ; for in nowise 
Were such love-message worthily bested 
Save in fine verse hy music rendered. 
He sought a poet-friend^ a Siennese, 
And " Mico, mine," he said, '' full oft ,to please 
Thy whim of sadness. I have sung thee strains 
To make thee weep in verse : now pay my 

pains, 
And write me a canzon divinely sad, 



How Lisa loved the King, 27 

Sinlessly passionate, and meekly mad 
With young despair, speaking a maiden's heart 
Of fifteen summers, who would fain depart 
From ripening life's new-urgent mystery, — 
Love-choice of one too high her love to be, — 
But cannot yield her breath till she has poured 
Her strength away in this hot-bleeding word. 
Telling the secret of her soul to her soul's lord." 

Said Mico, " Nay, that thought is poesy, 

I need but listen as it sings to me. 

Come thou again to-morrow." The third day. 

When linked notes had perfected the lay, 

Minuccio' had his summons to the court. 

To make, as he was wont, the moments short 

Of ceremonious dinner to the king. 

This was the time when he had 'meant to bring 

Melodious message of young Lisa's love • 



28 How Lisa loved the King. 

He waited till the air had ceased to move 
To ringing silver, till Falernian wine 
Made quickened sense with quietude combine ; 
And then with passionate descant made each 
ear incline. 

Lovey thou didst see me, light as morning's 

breath, 
Roaming a gardeji in a joyous error, 
Laughing at chases vain, a happy child, 
Till of thy countenance the alluring terror 
Ln majesty from out the blossoms smiled. 
From out their life seeming a beauteous Death 
O Love, who so didst choose me for thine own. 
Taking this little isle to thy great sway, 
See now, it is the honor of thy throne 
That zvhat thou gavest perish not away, 
Nor leave some sweet remembra7ice to atone 



How Lisa loved the King. 29 



By life that will be for the brief life gone : 
Hear, ere the shroud der these frail limbs be 

thrown — 
Since every king is vassal unto thee. 
My heart's lord needs must listen loyally — 
O tell him I am waiting for m^y Death I 

Tell hijn, for that he hath such royal power 
' Twere hard for him to think how small a things 
How slight a sign, would make a wealthy dower 
For one like me, the bride of that pale king 
Whose bed is m.ine at some swift-iiearing hour. 
Go to my .lord, -and to his inemory bring 
That happy birthday of my sorrowing, 
When his large glaiue made meaner gazers 

glad. 
Entering the bannered lists : 'twas then I had 
The wound that laid me hi the arms of Death. 



30 How Lisa loved the King. 



Tell Jiim^ O Love, T am a loivly maid, 
No vzoi^e tJian any little knot of thyme 
That he with careless foot may often tread ; 
Yet lowest fragrance oft will mount snblime 
And cleave to things most high and hallowed. 
As doth the fragrance of my lifes springtime^ 
My lowly love, that, soaring, seeks to climb 
Within his thought, and make a gentle bliss, 
More blissful than if mine, in being his : 
So shall / live in hitn, and rest in Death. 

The strain was new. It seemed a pleading cry, 

And yet a rounded, perfect melody. 

Making grief beauteous as the tear-filled eyes 

Of little child at little miseries. 

Trembling at first, then swelling as it rose. 

Like rising light that broad and broader grows, 

It filled the hall, and so possessed the air. 



How Lisa loved the King. 31 

That not one living, breathing soul was there, 
Though dullest, slowest, but was quivering 
In Music's grasp, and forced to hear her sing. 
But most such sweet compulsion took the mood 
Of Pedro (tired of doing what he would). 
Whether the words which that strange meaning 

bore 
Were but the poet's feigning, or aught more. 
Was bounden question, since their aim must be 
At some imagined or true royalty. 
He called Minuccio, and bade him tell 
What poet of the day had writ so well ; 
For, though they came behind all former rhymes, 
The verses were not bad for these poor times. 
" Monsignor, they are only three days old," 
Minuccio said ; " but it must not be told 
How this song grew, save to your royal ear." 
Eager, the king withdrew where none was near, 



32 How Lisa loved the Kiftg. 

And gave close audience to Minuccio, 

Who meetly told that love-tale meet to know. 

The king had features pliant to confess 

The presence of a manly tenderness, — 

Son, father, brother, lover, blent in one. 

In fine harmonic exaltation ; 

The spirit of religious chivalry. 

He listened, and Minuccio could see 

The tender, generous admiration spread 

O'er all his face, and glorify his head 

With royalty that would have kept its rank. 

Though his brocaded robes to tatters shrank. 

He answered without pause, " So sweet a maid, 

In Nature's own insignia arrayed. 

Though sh6 were come of unmixed trading blood 

That sold and bartered ever since the flood. 

Would have the self-contained and single worth 

Of radiant jewels born in darksome earth. 



How Lisa loved the King. 33 

Raona were a shame to Sicily, 
Letting such love and tears unhonored be : 
Hasten, Minuccio, tell her that the king 
To-day will surely visit her when vespers ring." 

Joyful, Minuccio bore the joyous word, 
And told at full, while none but Lisa heard, 
How each thing had befallen, sang the song, 
And, like a patient nurse who would prolong 
All means of soothing, dwelt upon each tone, 
Each look, with which the mighty Aragon 
Marked the high worth his royal heart assigned 
To that dear place he held in Lisa's mind. 
She listened till the draughts of pure content 
Through all her limbs like some new being 

went — 
Life, not recovered, but untried before. 
From out the growing world's unmeasured store 



34 How Lisa loved the King. 

Of fuller, better, more divinely mixed. 
'Twas glad reverse : she had so firmly fixed 
To die, already seemed to fall a veil 
Shrouding the inner glow from light of senses 
pale. 

Her parents, wondering, see her half arise ; 
Wondering, rejoicing, see her long dark eyes 
Brimful with clearness, not of 'scaping tears, 
But of some light ethereal that enspheres 
Their orbs with calm, some vision newly learnt 
Where strangest fires erewhile had blindly burnt. 
She asked to have her soft white robe and band 
And coral ornaments ; and with her hand 
She gave her long dark locks a backward fall. 
Then looked intently in a mirror small. 
And feared her face might, perhaps, displease 
the king : 



Hozv Lisa loved the King. 35 

" In truth," she said, " I am a tiny thing :• 
I was too bold to tell what could such visit 
bring." 

Meanwhile the king, revolving in his thought 

That innocent passion, was more deeply wrought 

To chivalrous pity ; and at vesper-bell, 

With careless mien which hid his purpose well. 

Went forth on horseback, and, as if by chance 

Passing Bernardo's house, he paused to glance 

At the fine garden of this wealthy man. 

This Tuscan trader turned Palermitan ; 

But, presently dismounting, chose to walk 

Amid the trellises, in gracious talk 

With this same trader, deigning even to ask 

If he had yet fulfilled the father's task 

Of 4Tiarrying that daughter, whose young charms 

Himself, betwixt the passages of arms, 



36 How Lisa loved the King. 

Noted admiringly. " Monsignor, no, 
She is not married : that were little woe, 
Since she has counted barely fifteen years ; 
But all such hopes of late have turned to fears ; 
She droops and fades, though, for a space quite 

brief, — 
Scarce three hours past, — she finds some 

strange relief." 
The king avised : " 'Twere dole to all of us. 
The world should lose a maid so beauteous : 
Let me now see her ; since I am her liege lord, 
Her spirits must wage war with death at my 

strong word." 
In such half-serious playfulness, he wends, 
With Lisa's father and two chosen friends, 
Up to the chamber where she pillowed sits, 
Watching the door that opening admits 
A presence as much better than her dreams. 



How Lisa loved the King. 37 

As happiness than any longing seems. 
The king advanced, and, with a reverent kiss 
Upon her hand, said, " Lady, what is this ? 
You, whose sweet youth should others' solace be, 
Pierce all our hearts, languishing piteously. 
We pray you, for the love of us, be cheered, 
Nor be too reckless of that life, endeared 
To us who know your passing worthiness. 
And count your blooming life as part of our 
life's bUss." 

Those words, that touch upon her hand from him 
Whom her soul worshipped, as far seraphim 
Worship the distant glory, brought some shame 
Quivering upon her cheek, yet thrilled her frame 
With such deep joy she seemed in paradise, 
In wondering gladness, and in dumb surprise. 
That bliss could be so blissful. Then she^spoke : 



38 How Lisa loved tJie King. 

" Signer, I was too weak to bear the yoke, 
The golden yoke, of thoughts too great for me ; 
That was the ground of my infirmity. 
But now I pray your grace to have belief 
That I shall soon be well, nor any more cause 
grief" 

The king alone perceived the covert sense 
Of all her words, which made one evidence, 
With her pure voice and candid loveliness. 
That he had lost much honor, honoring less 
That message of her passionate distress. 
He staid beside her for a little while, 
With gentle looks and speech, until a smile 
As placid as a ray of early morn 
On opening flower-cups o'er her lips was borne. 
When he had left her, and the tidings spread 
Through all the town, how he had visited 



How Lisa loved the King. 39 

The Tuscan trader's daughter, who was sick, 
Men said it was a royal deed, and cathoUc. 

And Lisa? She no longer wished for death ; 

But as a poet, who sweet verses saith 

Within his soul, and joys in music there, 

Nor seeks another heaven, nor can bear 

Disturbing pleasures, so was she content. 

Breathing the life of grateful sentiment. 

She thought no maid betrothed could be more 

blest ; 
For treasure must be valued by the test 
Of highest excellence and rarity, 
And her dear joy was best as best could be : 
There seemed no other crown to her delight. 
Now the high loved one saw her love aright. 
Thus her soul thriving on that exquisite mood, 
Spread like the May-time all its beauteous good 



40 How Lisa loved the King. 

O'er the soft bloom of neck and arms and cheek, 
And strengthened the sweet body, once so weak. 
Until she rose and walked, and, like a bird 
With sweetly rippling throat, she made her 
spring joys heard. 

The king, when he the happy change had seen, 
Trusted the ear of Constance, his fair queen. 
With Lisa's innocent secret, and conferred 
How they should jointly, by their deed and word. 
Honor this maiden's love, which, like the prayer 
Of loyal hermits, never thought to share 
In what it gave. The queen had that chief grace ^ 
Of womanhood, a heart that can embrace 
All goodness in another woman's form ; 
And that same day, ere the sun lay too warm 
On southern terraces, a messenger 
Informed Bernardo that the royal pair 



How Lisa loved the King. 41 

Would straightway visit him, and celebrate 
Their gladness at his daughter's happier state, 
Which they were fain to see. Soon came the 

king 
On horseback, with his barons, heralding 
The advent of the queen in courtly state ; 
And all, descending at the garden gate. 
Streamed with their feathers, velvet, and bro- 

"cade, 
Through the pleached alleys, till they, pausing, 

made 
A lake of splendor 'mid the aloes gray ; 
When, meekly facing all their proud array. 
The white-robed Lisa with her parents stood. 
As some white dove before the gorgeous brood 
Of dapple-breasted birds born by the Colchian 

flood. 



42 How Lisa Icroed the Kiiig. 

The king and queen, by gracious looks and 

speech, 
Encourage her, and thus their courtiers teach 
How, this fair morning, they may courtUest be, 
By making Lisa pass it happily. 
And soon the ladies and the barons all 
Draw her by turns, as at a festival 
Made for her sake, to easy, gay discourse, 
And compliment with looks and smiles enforce ; 
A joyous hum is heard the gardens round ; 
Soon there is Spanish dancing, and the sound 
Of minstrel's song, and autumn fruits are pluckt ; 
Till mindfully the king and queen conduct 
Lisa apart to where a trellised shade 
Made pleasant resting. Then King Pedro said, — 
" Excellent maiden, that rich gift of love 
Your heart hath made us hath a worth above 
All royal treasures, nor is fitly met 



How Lisa ^ loved the King. 43 

Save when the grateful memory of deep debt 
Lies still behind the outward honors done : 
And as a sign that no oblivion 
Shall overflood that faithful memory, 
We while we live your cavalier will be ; 
Nor will we ever arm ourselves for fight, 
Whether for struggle dire, or brief delight 
Of warlike feigning, but we first will take 
The colors you ordain, and for your sake 
Charge the more bravely where your emblem is ; 
Nor will we claim from you an added bliss 
To our sweet thoughts of you save one sole kiss. 
But there still rests the outward honor meet 
To mark your worthiness ; and we entreat 
That you will turn your ear to proffered vows 
Of one who loves you, and would be your spouse. 
We must not wrong yourself and Sicily 
By letting all your blooming years pass by 



44 How Lisa loved the King. 

Unmated : you will give the world its due 
From beauteous maiden, and become a matron 
true." 

Then Lisa, wrapt in virgin wonderment 
At her ambitious love's complete content, 
Which left no further good for her to seek 
Than love's obedience, said, with accent meek, — 
" Monsignor, I know well that were it known 
To all the world how high my love had flown. 
There would be few who would not deem me 

mad, 
Or say my mind the falsest image had 
Of my condition and your loftiness. 
But Heaven has seen that for no moment's space 
Have I forgotten you to be the king. 
Or me myself to be a lowly thing — 
A little lark, enamoured of the sky, 



How Lisa loved the King. 45 

That soared to sing, to break its breast, and 

die. 
But, as you better know than I, the heart 
In choosing chooseth not its own desert, 
But that great merit which attracteth it : 
'Tis law, I struggled, but I must submit, 
And having seen a worth all worth above, 
I loved you, love you, and shall always love. 
But that doth mean, my will is ever yours. 
Not only when your will ray good insures. 
But if it wrought me what the world calls 

harrn : 
Fire, wounds, would wear from your dear will a 

charm. 
That you will be my knight is full content. 
And for that kiss, — I pray, first, for the queen's 

consent." 



46 How Lisa loved the King. 

Her answer, given with such firm gentleness, 

Pleased the queen well, and made her hold no 

less 

Of Lisa's merit than the king had held. 

And so, all cloudy threats of grief dispelled, 

There was betrothal made that very morn 

'Twixt Perdicone, youthful, brave, well-born, 

And Lisa whom he loved ; she loving well 

The lot that from obedience befell. 

The queen a rare betrothal ring on each 

Bestowed, and other gems, with gracious speech. 

And, that no joy might lack, the king, who knew 

The youth was poor, gave him rich Ceffalu 

And Cataletta, — large and fruitful lands, — 
Adding much promise when he joined their 

hands. 

At last he said to Lisa, with an air 

Gallant yet noble, " Now we claim our share 



How Lisa loved the King, 47 

From your sweet love, a share which is not 

small ; 
For in the sacrament one crumb is all." 
Then, taking her small face his hands between. 
He kissed her on the brow with kiss serene, — 
Fit seal to that pure vision her young soul had 

seen. 

And many witnessed that King Pedro kept 
His royal promise. Perdicone stept 
To many honors honorably won. 
Living with Lisa in true union. 
Throughout his life, the king still took delight 
To call himself fair Lisa's faithful knight ; 
And never wore in field or tournament 
A scarf or emblem, save by Lisa sent. 
Such deeds made subjects loyal in that land ; 
They joyed that one so worthy to command. 



48 How Lisa loved the King. 

So chivalrous and gentle, had become 
The king of Sicily, and filled the room 
Of Frenchmen, who abused the Church's trust, 
Till, in a righteous vengeance on their lust, 
Messina rose, with God, and with the dagger's 
thrust. 

l'envoi. 

Reader y this story pleased me long ago 

In the bright pages of Boccaccio ; 

And where the author of a good we know, 

Let us not fail to pay the grateful thanks we owe. 






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